Walter Mitty and the Emerald
by singukusa
Summary: Fic written for my Language Arts class based on a short story featuring a character named Walter Mitty. It doesn't fit in the crossovers category, but there's nowhere else for it to go.


**Walter Mitty on the _Emerald_**

singukusa

The overcast sky was drab grey and a fine rain, almost fine enough to feel like mist upon one's bared skin, fell on the huddled passengers on the deck of the ferry. Walter Mitty stood looking out over the murky waters of the lake, watching the mild wind whip the misty rain in flurries of dampness.

Abruptly the weather took a turn for the worse. Heavy raindrops drummed on the deck of the ferryboat, soaking Mitty through his blue anorak, and the wind began to howl. The ferry lurched and he grasped the railing to keep his balance. Wave after wave pummeled the boat mercilessly rocking the already miserable travelers back and forth. Suddenly experiencing terrible nausea, Mitty leaned over the ship's rail, the cold metal pressing into his hands as his head spun faster than a merry-go-round…

"Weigh anchor! Hoist the sails!"

The _Emerald_, as majestic as her name implied, rocked gently at the harbor, small waves lightly slapping the wooden boards of her hull. A brisk wind snapped through the white canvas of the sails as sailors, browned and tanned, climbed about the rigging with the grace and agility of marmosets in the canopy of a steamy jungle. It was all hands on deck, and those not up the masts scurried around with supplies for the long voyage. Rice, dried meats, kegs of rum, and all manner of vittles were scattered among the coiled ropes in a seemingly chaotic mess.

At the bow of the grand ship stood a man who looked to where the turquoise sea met a bright blue sky. His pose, legs splayed apart and feet firmly planted on the planks, told of boundless confidence and a brave recklessness. He wore simple boots of tan leather and ordinary brown breeches. His shirt was white linen and a simple gold hoop adorned his right ear, glinting in the warm sunlight.

Cap'n Mitty pivoted to face the commotion below him, a small smile forming on his lips. They were very nearly ready to depart, and he was itching to commence. His gaze shifted unconsciously to the only still man amidst the disorder. Tucked away in the shadows sat an old sailor, hunched over black cloth, a needle and thread looking diminutive in his large, weathered hands. Mitty hurried over and inspected the man's handy-work.

"A fine jolly-roger, if I do say so myself," he muttered to no-one in particular, pleased. He liked the result. It was of his own design, made especially for this trip. An hour glass— to tell the other ships their time was almost up— was flanked on each side by two crossed cutlasses. There was no mistaking what _those_ implied.

It was less than an hour later that the two-masted ship could be seen casting off and leaving the harbor, her false colors flying. She would be sailing under the pretence of a merchant banner until another vessel came within range. Only when it was too late, only then would the black flag be raised to show her for what she really was: a pirate's ship.

It was just three days later that the look-out in the crow's nest spotted the merchants on the horizon. The ship drew closer as they signaled good intentions. When they had sailed close enough to see the other's colors the crew of the _Emerald_ switched their own to their black pirate's flag. Cap'n Mitty put a spyglass to his eye, watching the merchants and thinking the battle already won. Surprisingly the other ship also lowered their flag and replaced it with another. It flapped gently in the breeze and could be clearly seen in the telescope. The French flag. It was a privateer's ship, the vessel of an official pirate hunter for the French government.

"All men to the guns!" he hollered to his crew. Collapsing the lens with a snap he strode to the starboard side as they came rapidly alongside the privateer. The sailors of both ships manned the cannons and aimed.

"Fire!"

Explosions shook the boat as cannonballs ripped through the wooden planks, and the captain stumbled. He was too close to the edge and leaned precariously…

"Hey, you! Watch out!"

Hands grabbed Mitty's anorak, jerking him backwards roughly as he nearly fell over the rail. A violent wave had tipped the ferry dangerously, almost knocking him into the raging waters.

"Oh, Walter! You know you shouldn't stand so close to the edge. I don't know what could have come over you for you to not notice how bad it has gotten. Come inside right now!"

Even over the droning voice of his wife cannons could still be heard echoing on the wild wind.


End file.
